


all we inherit

by Mertiya



Series: scenes from the life you never thought you'd have (and you're not quite sure you deserve) [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But he's still Akechi, But honestly he and Akira are pretty good for one another, Fix-It, He retains a certain laissez-faire attitude towards personal morality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Which doesn't mean he doesn't have a point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13422276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Akira visits Akechi's Palace, and events play out differently.





	all we inherit

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Kyros, lontradiction, and Teakwood for encouragement and help.
> 
> Title from "my father moved through dooms of love" by e.e. cummings.

            He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s dangerous, an extra risk on top of all the other risks they’ve been taking lately. And maybe he should have told the others, but he can’t bear to ask them to shoulder yet another burden with him. They have a plan, and he knows that, and he’ll keep to it if he has to.

            Which is, of course, why he keeps finding himself sneaking away into Goro Akechi’s palace whenever he can take a moment for himself. As soon as the Phantom Thieves worked out where Akechi’s true loyalties lay, he checked the Meta-Nav on a hunch, and it reacted. It took a bit more time to discover the nature of Akechi’s Palace, but in some ways the other boy is really staggeringly predictable, and that’s how on the third day, he tries “movie set” and winds up in a place that would probably be just as at home in Los Angeles.

            He doesn’t fight the shadows; it’s not safe, just him alone in there for a few hours after dark. Instead, he hides and slips from place to place, and watches. Akechi’s shadow isn’t an actor; he’s the director. The shadows that populate his palace are the actors following his every whim, and eavesdropping on them turns out to be really quite enlightening.

            What Joker does do is find Akechi’s treasure. By the time he has done, he’s heard enough that he’s not so terribly surprised when he squints through the haze and thinks he sees a piece of official-looking paper. He’s so intent on craning his head to decide if his hunch is correct that he very nearly gets himself stabbed by Akechi’s shadow—not with anything dramatic like a sword, just a large, very wicked-looking switchblade.

            “I’m not going to steal your treasure,” Joker says, with a sigh as he skips out of the way. “I don’t like doing that if it’s not necessary. I don’t like—I don’t know. Changing people’s hearts this way, not really. And it’s not as if we don’t have a backup plan.”

            Akechi’s shadow doesn’t react, except that his bright eyes slide to the side and he tucks the blade back into a pocket. “Those don’t sound like the words of a true thief,” he murmurs.

            Joker shrugs. “I never _asked_ to suddenly be a trickster,” he says. “I was just trying to do the right thing, and it sort of happened to me.”

            “You know I could kill you right here—” The shadow reaches out, and Joker’s not quite expecting the inhuman reflexes or the inhuman strength, although he should have been, and he’s pinned against the wall by his throat before he can react.

            “I guess so,” he answers, “only I don’t think you will? I think you like me.”

            Akechi—Akechi’s shadow chuckles. “What makes you think that?” he spits.

            “Partly because of what gave you away. I mean, no one just _pretends_ to be that into pancakes. You’re not a monster.” Joker glances around the palace. “You do a pretty good imitation, I’ll give you that.”

            “So, what, are you here to appeal to my sense of _ethics_? Good luck, because I learned a long time ago that ethics are worthless. All that matters is how people perceive you, and it’s very easy to manipulate that perception.”

            “I can’t entirely disagree with that,” Joker wheezes. “But I’m not here to ask you to do something out of the goodness of your heart. I’m here to ask you why you keep letting him control your life.”

            Akechi’s shadow freezes. The fingers dig in. Joker winces. They stare at one another, and then, very slowly, the shadow takes a step or two back and lets Joker slump to the ground. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, very lightly. “I control my life. I’m the chosen hero, the ace detective.”

            “Yeah, and you’re doing Shido’s dirty work for him, aren’t you?” Joker shoves his hands into the pockets of his flowing jacket. “I haven’t told the others, but it’s pretty obvious from what I’ve seen here.”

            “As if someone like you would understand.” The shadow waves a hand. “You’ve had all of this handed to you on a silver platter. Have you ever had to work for anything in your life— _really_ work?”

            Joker takes a few steps forward. Closer, at his height, he looms over Akechi’s shadow a little. “This isn’t about me,” he says. “This is about you, Akechi, and the fact that you’re letting yourself be used.”

            “I’m not,” the shadow says, a little too quickly. “Once Shido comes to power, I’ll betray him and—”

            “Once Shido comes to power, you’ll be discarded, probably dead. That’s the thing about _ethics_ ,” Joker says, letting himself grin a little. “If someone doesn’t have any and you’re more useful to them dead, you’re going to die.”

            “Oh, please. As if I’d let Shido get the better of me.”

            “What do you think you’ve already done?”

            The shadow’s face distorts with rage, but this time Joker’s prepared; he skips neatly to the side, sliding into the darkness at the edge of the room.

            “I am my own person!” snarls Akechi’s shadow. A suggestion of wavering horns appears above his head. “How dare you claim that—”

            “You’re bound, just as surely as if Shido’d chained you down and left you with acid dripping on your face,” Joker replies, and he realizes that he’s almost cheerful. He’s almost enjoying himself. “I just thought you might want to _know_ that, Akechi.” He slides through the darkness and comes up right behind Akechi’s shadow. “Oh, and I thought you might want to know that I could have taken your Treasure if I’d wanted to.” He pushes the stiff sheet of paper into Akechi’s hand, skipping backwards before the shadow can do more than shout in rage. “Think about it, okay?” he says, but this really does have to be the last word, because he can’t afford to spend any longer here. “Just think about it,” he murmurs again, mostly to himself this time, and slips away.

~

            He’s just about given up having had any effect when, five days later, Akechi takes his arm as they’re exiting Sae’s palace, having just secured a route to the Treasure. “I need to talk to you,” he says, and there’s an intensity in his gaze that the Akechi who’s been presented to the Phantom Thieves thus far doesn’t have.

            “Okay,” Akira agrees, and he tells the others to go on ahead, although both Futaba and Makoto give him questioning looks with their eyebrows, and Morgana lashes his tail in concern. Akira gives them a nod to let them know he’ll be all right, lightly touching the phone in his pocket. _I’ll text you if I need help_ , he tries to convey, and they let him go with Akechi, although Makoto is frowning.

            “Somewhere private?” Akechi asks, and Akira shakes his head.

            “Too suspicious,” he says. “If we’re spotted by one of your adoring fans, it’ll be much better if it’s in a public area.” Something of a lie, but in case Akechi has decided to just murder him and have done with it, this will give him at least a measure of protection. Akechi’s eyes narrow slightly, but he dips his head in acknowledgment.

            They wander down the streets of Shibuya together, and for the first few minutes all they do is look around in silence, before Akechi takes a short, sharp breath.

            “I need your help,” he says quietly. “And before I ask for it, I need your word that you won’t immediately try to kill me.”

            “I don’t make a habit of killing my friends,” Akira responds, trying to sound amused, although there’s tension riding in his shoulders. Does he sound suitably unaware of what Akechi is talking about? He doesn’t know.

            Akechi stumbles slightly, staring down at the pavement beneath him. “I don’t—” he pauses. “Let’s pretend we’re not friends,” he says lightly. “Hypothetically speaking, if we were enemies, then would you consider killing me?”

            Akira glances sideways at him. “I’d consider it,” he admits, “but you’ll notice that the Phantom Thieves don’t make a habit of killing their enemies, either.”

            “No,” Akechi breathes. “It’s quite astonishing, the fact that it’s possible to change someone’s heart without killing them.” Again that quick, light smile. “I might argue it’s even more brutal.”

            Shifting uneasily, Akira looks to the side. He’s heard this argument from Akechi before, often enough. It’s interesting he’s coming back to it even now. “Did you bring me out here just to argue about the justice of the Phantom Thieves again?” he asks coolly. “Because I’m not sure why you needed us to be alone for that.”

            “No,” Akechi says in a low voice, and he stops for a moment as if collecting himself. “I know you haven’t changed my heart,” he whispers, “because I still have a Palace.”

            “Yes,” Akira agrees, and Akechi’s head whips up, tension rippling down the muscles in his arm. His immediate sidestep, along with a slight duck of the head, is oddly graceful, but Akira recognizes the conditioned fear underlying the motion and lets himself go still, as nonthreatening as possible.

            “So,” Akechi says, slowly. “You knew that I have a Palace, then?”

            “It wasn’t very difficult to figure out. The Meta-Nav is reasonably reliable.”

            “If you think to look,” Akechi agrees. “I was rather hoping you wouldn’t.” He gnaws at his thumbnail. “I was planning to betray you,” he says, after a long minute. “But I suspect—I’ve been thinking—if I do, I don’t know that I’ll live very long afterward.”

            Akira nods slowly. “Maybe you shouldn’t betray us, then,” he responds.

            Akechi’s eyes narrow again, and he pauses. “Where did I slip up?” he asks, making a sour expression as if he’s just bitten into a lemon.

            “Do you really want to know?”

            “Yes, of course. How the hell did I let you out-think me?” Akechi’s voice is rising, and Akira puts a finger to his lips, nodding around them at the passersby.

            “Let’s go to a café,” he says, and Akechi’s eyes widen again.

            “Oh, my god,” he says. “You _knew_ what I was going to say, and you were—” he pinches his lips together angrily. “Damn you,” he says, but this time he sounds more weary than angry. Another long moment before he speaks again. “Fine,” he says.

            They end up in the usual coffee shop, where the buzz of other people’s conversations will quite cover their own. Akira lets himself smirk a little bit, because all right, it was at least partly luck, but it still feels good to get the better of Akechi. He leans forward and says, “ _Pancakes_.”

            Akechi frowns in confusion. “Pancakes?”

            “It was Mona who suggested we go out for them.”

            He sees the moment that Akechi understands. He runs an angry hand through his hair. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says. “ _Fuck_ me, I don’t believe—fuck.”

            “So it was at least a little bit bad luck on your part,” Akira concedes.

            “So of course you’ve all known this whole time.” Akechi buries his face in his hands. “God, I’m a laughing-stock.” He looks up again. “What were you planning to do if this didn’t happen?” he asks slowly. “Just how much do you know?”

            “We weren’t going to kill you,” Akira tells him. “But I wasn’t going to roll over and let you shoot me in the head, either. So I _strongly_ suggest that you take that into account when you decide on your next move. Luck or not—”

            Akechi nods. “Checkmate,” he says quietly. “But you can’t trust me, not when you haven’t changed my heart.”

            “I can trust you not to do something incredibly stupid,” Akira points out. “I don’t have to trust that you agree with me as long as I’m your best hope of coming out of this mess mostly intact.”

            Chewing on his lip, Akechi acknowledges this with a slight tilt of the head. “I thought you Phantom Thieves were all about _justice_.”

            “Oh, believe me, I want Shido to go down just as much as you do,” Akira says. “I don’t _like_ killing people, and honestly I don’t really like changing their hearts, either, but something has to change. And one thing about all of this changing hearts is that I’ve learned really quickly that everyone has…” he pauses. He doesn’t like to admit this; it feels wrong and settles wrongly in his stomach, but it’s the truth, as far as he can see it. “Levers,” he finishes.

            “Kudos to you for realizing that,” Akechi says, with a bitter smile. “And good job with whatever you did to make _me_ realize that Shido was just playing on exactly the same—thing—” He stares down at his hands. “I suppose we should order some drinks, shouldn’t we?” he says.

            “Probably,” Akira agrees. He’s still trying to figure out what to say next, because it’s _still_ hard for him to reconcile what he knows that Akechi’s done with the wry face the other boy is putting on across from him. And he also knows that somehow that has to be dealt with, and he really ought to have told the others about it. Especially Haru. Haru deserves to know. But Akechi is _useful_ , and he’s powerful, and Akira shudders because he’s thinking just like Shido now. What does that say about him?

            So it’s stupid, but he says it anyways, “I haven’t told the others yet about what you’ve done.”

            Akechi’s eyes widen, and his fingers twitch, but he manages a brittle laugh. “What do you mean?” he says.

            “The murders,” Akira says, and he stares down at his hands. “The cognitive collapses. They know you’re planning to kill me, but they don’t know—they don’t know everything. Not yet.”

            “You—y-y-you,” stammers Akechi. There’s a moment of silence, white noise, really, before he speaks again. “I’m sorry,” Akechi tries.

            “You’re not,” Akira tells him, and forces himself to look up again.

            Akechi’s head is bowed over the table, and he’s pressing both of his palms against his eyes. “I’m not,” he agrees. “It’s what I had to do, and pretty much anyone would have done it to me if they’d needed to. But I don’t—I don’t _understand_ why you—haven’t—yet.” It’s finally wrenched out of him.

            Akira licks his lips. “Because we all know what it’s like,” he mumbles. “Being hurt by somebody who’s supposed to protect you. And I mean you are more useful if you can be trusted than if you’re dead or whatever. But I haven’t told them yet.” And he knows he should, because he can’t forgive Akechi for them.

            “Don’t,” Akechi begs suddenly. “Please, I—I’ve never seen anything like the way you all interact. I’ve never,” he swallows, “I’ve never _had_ anything like that. I’ve done it all myself, all alone, and I could, I could _do_ it—” He stops himself, takes a deep breath. “They could forgive me for planning to kill you and not going through with it, I expect,” he says in a dull voice. “But not for everything. And you know I’d do it again.”

            “You probably shouldn’t say that,” Akira cautions. “But—I don’t know. I honestly don’t know if they’d forgive you or not. I’m having a hard time figuring out what to feel about you myself.” He shouldn’t have said that. He wasn’t planning to say that. “I won’t tell them yet,” he says finally. “But if there are any more mental shutdowns…”

            Akechi nods jerkily. “There won’t be,” he says. “Although in that case, I don’t have much time before Shido tries to kill me anyway. Fuck,” he sighs. “Fuck. Wonderful.”

            A waitress chooses that moment to notice them, and there’s a brief, panicked interlude as they try to figure out what to order. Finally, Akira takes over and gets them a Salisbury steak and two mochas. Once the waitress is safely gone again, Akechi leans forward and laces his hands together. “So at this point, the position I am in is—not the most tenable,” he says, having apparently regained a little of his usual poise.

            “You mean because if you stop acting as an assassin, Shido will have you killed immediately.”

            “And because you’ve neatly outmaneuvered me such that I have no recourse _but_ to trust you.”

            “That wasn’t _exactly_ the intent.” Akira shuffles uneasily. “But yes, I suppose that’s true.”

            Akechi stares at the table, and although his face remains motionless, Akira can just about _see_ the calculations passing behind his eyes. After a long moment, he stretches and nods very slightly. “All right,” he says. “You’ve got me on all sides, and I—suppose it’s marginally better to owe a debt to you than to remain in Shido’s service.”

            “I’ll have to tell them at some point,” Akira says. “If you don’t. If—we can try to find a way to get you away? Alone.”

            Because Akira is starting to feel overwhelmed and nervous, it’s at this point that the waitress cheerfully reappears with one steak and two coffees, which she sets down in front of them. Akechi takes the coffee and pulls it to the place in front of him, curling his hands around it. “No,” he says, slowly. “There’s—enough of me that would rather die than be alone again. Not all of me. But…enough.”

            “All right,” Akira says. Something about the odd forlornness of Akechi’s slumped shoulders propels him to reach forward and very, very lightly brush a finger across the back of Akechi’s knuckles. “I trust you to do what’s right for you,” he says seriously, and Akechi blinks up at him, tilts his head to the side, and smiles, just a bit.

~

            The gun is cold against Akira’s forehead, and for a long, horrible moment, he thinks this is it, this is the end; they should have gone with their original plan and forgotten Akechi—and then Akechi pulls the trigger. There’s a hollow click, and he smiles slightly and tips his head to the side. “Bang, you’re dead,” he says. “Now I suppose we’d better get you out before anyone else realizes.”

            Akira lets out a breath. “You _asshole_ ,” he manages. His heart is pounding furiously in his ears.

            In the end, Akechi didn’t stop working for Shido—not obviously, at any rate. The day that he dusted off his hands after destroying three shadows with brilliant lances of light and turned to the rest of the Phantom Thieves was only the day after he and Akira had coffee together, and Akechi told them _everything_.

            Ryuji punched him in the jaw before Akira could stop him, but it was Haru who stepped between them. “Don’t,” she said in a soft, peculiar voice. “I—I know what it’s like to—to have a father who forces you to—” She shut her eyes, clenched her fists. “Don’t,” she said again, and Ryuji growled something indecipherable, but backed off.

            Akechi rolled up from the floor, working his jaw carefully, and then waited, eyes cast down. Akira knew that the deference was faked, that the act of submission was carefully calculated, but it was enough to move the tension towards awkwardness rather than explosiveness.

            In the end, after a few arguments mainly between Ryuji, Ann, and Makoto, the Phantom Thieves unanimously agreed to adjust their plans. Fortunately, Shido didn’t call for too many cases of cognitive collapse, so it wasn’t that difficult for Akechi to argue that his time was being entirely taken up by the Phantom Thieves. It hadn’t gotten to the point of being a truly suspicious pattern that every time a collapse was called for, the Phantom Thieves just happened to need Akechi. And Shido must have known that with Akechi pretending to be one of the Thieves, he would have to be an unreliable assassin for a period of time.

            “Well, I didn’t actually shoot you,” Akechi responds. “Come along, then.”

            Akira can’t stop the grunt of pain that falls from his lips as he tries to stand, and he’s _almost_ certain he doesn’t imagine the flash of sudden concern in Akechi’s eyes.

            “What did they—do?” Akechi asks, after a brief moment.

            “Just about crushed my leg.” Akira leans wearily against the table, trying to get the stamina to stand up straight. Before he can do much more than blink back the tears in his eyes, Akechi’s there, sliding underneath his shoulder for support.

            “Unpleasant,” he frowns, then peers into Akira’s eyes. “Did they drug you?” he asks, and Akira nods.

            “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he tries to take a step and finds that he can’t walk properly by himself.

            “I’ve got you,” Akechi says, a strong arm underneath his. “Lean on me.”

            Somehow, Akechi gets him along the passageway and—thank god—out of the police station. Things get a little bit blurry in the middle, but there’s a taxi ride, and Sae is there, and they end up at Leblanc. And then he’s sitting in one of the booths, and absolutely _everything_ hurts, but Sojiro has put a plate of curry in front of him, and someone is helping him eat it. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until now.

            It takes two people to get him up the stairs to his little attic room, and he’s stumbling and wincing the whole way. The bed creaks under him as he’s stretched out on it, and he hears a few murmured words exchanged somewhere nearby.

            “…don’t know what they gave him, keep an eye on him.”

            “Thank you—you and Sae.”

            “Don’t—thank me.” That’s Akechi’s voice, Akira’s sure of it, and he manages to open his eyes widely enough to reach out and snag Akechi’s sleeve.

            “Thanks,” he slurs. “For not shooting me and all that. Sorry.” He waves a hand towards Sojiro. “’M a little delirious,” he explains, in case Sojiro thinks the thanks are unusual. “You, too,” he manages. “Thanks, Dad.”

            “I wonder what he was like as a child,” Sojiro says, sounding slightly stunned. “I can only imagine what he must have been like when he was feverish.”

            Akechi is saying something as well, but it’s at this point that Akira’s beleaguered brain decides it’s had enough, and promptly switches off.

~

            Joker finds Akechi last. He’s leaning against the back wall of the little blue cell, and he barely even looks up when Joker approaches. “All hail the mighty leader,” he says dully, but the words lack bite. “Did you want something?”

            “Come on, it’s not over yet.”

            “Really.” Akechi stands, puts his hands on the bars and stares through them accusingly. “Because I thought it was over when you decided not to take the deal.”

            “It wasn’t a deal I could take,” Joker tells him. He doesn’t want to hear this, because he’s been questioning himself from the moment he made the decision, and he’s known since that moment that Akechi would never, ever agree. _The ends don’t justify the means_ , Joker thinks, but Akechi doesn’t think that.

            “A unilateral decision from the fearless leader, of course.”

            “It’s not like I could ask the others—and all of us agreed to erase Mementos.”

            “Before things changed,” Akechi bites out. “New information requires re-evaluation.”

            “I don’t know what you wanted me to do!” Joker replies in frustration, even though he knows exactly what Akechi wanted him to do.

            “Yes, you do,” Akechi says. “And both of us know you would never have done it, even if everyone else didn’t agree.”

            They stare at each other past the faintly glowing blue bars, and it’s Joker whose eyes drop. “I couldn’t,” he says, quietly. “I couldn’t, and I know you’ll never be able to understand why, and I’m sorry.”

            “Are you?”

            “Not for doing it, but I’m sorry I couldn’t—be who you wanted me to be.” He reaches out, and their fingers touch. Joker knows that Akechi, of all people, won’t be coming with him. It’s vanishingly unlikely he’ll ever put on either of his Metaverse costumes again, either. Akechi’s eyes slide away, and Joker doesn’t push. He wants to reach through the bars, catch Akechi’s shirt and pull him close. Wants to— _no_. He doesn’t deserve that, and he won’t put Akechi in that situation. Not now. Not like this. “We’ll—kick his ass for you,” he says lamely, and he turns away and pretends he doesn’t feel Akechi’s gaze boring into the back of his neck.

            It’s time to save the world, after all.

~

            They’re so close. They’ve almost done it. The god is reeling on his—well, he doesn’t really have feet, but whatever the equivalent is. Just a few more strikes. Joker’s on his last legs—Cu Chulainn is flagging badly—but they just have to land one or two more blows. And then the arm holding a massive sword revives, reeling backward and beginning to swing in an arc that will very clearly pass directly through Joker—and there’s no way he’ll survive a hit like this when he’s already injured.  

            Time seems to slow down. Not enough for Joker to get out of the way, of course; that would be too easy. Just enough time for him to see the blow coming, to know that this is really, truly the end. He can’t survive it. He wants to scream at the unfairness of it, but he’s always known that it doesn’t matter how hard you try or how righteous your cause is: sometimes you still lose.

            And then, before the vast hand can complete its arc and bring ruin upon him, there’s a blur of white and black and a shout that hangs in the charged air, “Come, _TYR_!”

            Somehow, impossibly, Crow is in front of him, arms flung wide, mouth grinning beneath a black version of his red tengu mask. Behind him, mimicking his stance, is the shining, translucent form of a persona—a warrior with a long, wild beard, chain-link armor, and only one hand.

            Joker feels the wind of the blow rush past his face; he sees Crow’s persona shudder, cracks appearing in it as if it were a glass vase someone had dropped. Yaldabaoth roars in anger, and Joker watches as Crow slumps forward onto his knees before him, the persona evaporating away into motes of golden light. “Well?” he says into the hollow silence that remains. “Finish it.” And then, with an expression of slight surprise on his face, he falls sideways onto the ground at Joker’s feet. There’s a cracking noise at the impact of his mask with the ground.

            Joker’s heart seems to make a cracking noise as well; certainly he’s screaming, and it’s with a renewed sense of determination that he turns back to Yaldabaoth. “You’re going _down_ ,” he says, and it doesn’t matter how stupid, how juvenile, how _Ryuji_ -ish that phrase is; he means it with every fiber of his being.

            After, when everything hurts and all of them are groaning and trying to process the battle and the loss of Morgana, Akira’s second thought—after Mona—is for Akechi. He’s curled on his side on the ground, still, and Akira is on his knees on the wet street before he knows it. For a moment, he’s afraid—but no, Akechi groans and leans sideways at the touch of Akira’s hand on his shoulder.

            The correct action at the point is probably to be gentle and make sure he’s all right.

            “What the hell were you thinking? You’re supposed to be the one with a sense of self-preservation!” Akira isn’t quite screaming in Akechi’s face, but he’s not that far off.

            “I think you’ll find that you mean I’m supposed to be the selfish one, and that doesn’t mean prioritizing my life if it costs me something I value more.” Akechi gasps for breath, eyelids fluttering, but he manages a faint, almost supercilious smirk. “Don’t you understand, Joker? You—all of you—have given me something I thought I’d never have. I won’t let anyone take away my family. Even if they are a bunch of overly heroic morons.”

            “Goddammit,” Akira tells him. He manages to get his arms under Akechi and prop him sideways so that he’s leaning against him. “Goddammit. You weren’t supposed to—” he cuts himself off, conscious of the eyes of the rest of the Phantom Thieves on them.

            “Well,” Akechi says quietly into the silence that results. “Well. I did.”

            “I’m glad you’re all right,” Akira whispers, although his tongue is so heavy with weariness it’s difficult for him to know if he’s forming the words correctly.

~

            “Why are you going back?”

            Akira stares, and Akechi stares right back at him over the table. “What?” he asks.

            “Why are you going back to your parents? You never talk about them, and, believe me, I know what it means when someone isn’t talking about their parents as obviously as you are.”

            It’s hard to suppress the guilty shiver that passes down his spine, and, knowing Akechi, he notices even though Akira does try to hide it.

            “Because,” he says, haltingly. “That’s…what you do. That’s what everyone expects. They’re, you know. They’re family.”

            “Like Shido was to me?” Akechi inquires icily, and Akira flinches. “Ask Sojiro to let you stay.”

            “I couldn’t possibly—”

            “If you don’t, I’ll tell Futaba.”

            “Tell her what?”

            Akechi moves like a blur, half a sidestep and the side of his hand is coming at Akira’s face. Akira flinches but doesn’t duck, the automatic response taking over and pulling his shoulders down, his head down—

            The blow never reaches him. “I’ll tell her _that_ ,” Akechi snarls.

            “Akechi…” Akira squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe against the sudden influx of painful emotions. “It’s not that simple. They’re my parents. They’re my legal guardians. This isn’t like it was for Futaba. I don’t have a _choice_ here.”

            “Isn’t this exactly what you were fighting for?” Akechi demands. He sounds incredulous. “You were fighting for freedom—for _everyone’s_ freedom.”

            “Maybe they’ll be better,” Akira says desperately. “Now that Yaldabaoth—”

            “They _won’t_ ,” Akechi tells him. “They won’t, because good job! You destroyed the Metaverse! Now there’s no way to _stop_ them!”

            “We had to, you know we had to—”

            “I don’t know a damn thing,” Akechi replies, and Akira drops into the booth and puts his face in his hands. “I stayed with you because I did not have a choice at first, Kurusu. Later because—well…” He falters. “I won’t see you go back to them. Sojiro is—is amazing—anyone would be _lucky_ to have a father like that, and I’m not going to let you _throw_ that away!”

            “I’m not throwing—”

            “ _He would let you stay!_ ” Akechi roars, and Akira has never heard him sound like this: this angry, this _lost_. “Just stop it,” Akechi continues. “Stop saving everyone but yourself. _Stop it_.”

            “I…I’m not…I’m not worth…” The words that Akira has struggled so hard not to think or express are bubbling to his lips now.

            “I don’t care,” Akechi says, quieter now. “I do not care what you think you are worth, or what you _are_ worth, that’s stupid, shut up. Sojiro will let you stay. Sae will make certain you don’t have to go back. Or don’t you trust them?”

            “It’s just…they’re my family…”

            Akechi leans across the table, so close that Akira can feel warm breath on his mouth. “Shido was my family,” he says clearly. “By that metric, at least. And if I had been as hellbent on staying with him as you apparently are, I. Would. Be. Dead. Now.”

            Well. There’s not much room for argument there, Akira supposes. And for the first time, he lets himself think sinkingly of how he would respond if this wasn’t _him_. How he _did_ respond, when it was Yusuke. Haru. Akechi. _Futaba_.

            Shit.

            The tears spill over without him being able to stop them. He presses his hands to his eyes, trying to make them stop, but he nods. “All right,” he manages. “I’ll—I’ll ask Sojiro.”

            There’s silence, for a long moment, and then Akechi is beside him. “Can I sit next to you?” he asks, a little awkward, and Akira manages to nod.

            “Yeah. Please.” He swipes the back of his hand across his eyes.

            Akechi scoots in beside him. “I am _really_ not the right person for this,” he points out, almost mild.

            Akira gives a watery laugh. “Well, I guess you can’t be selfish a hundred percent of the time.”

            “If you think this isn’t selfish, Kurusu, then you don’t understand me at all.”

            “Call me Akira,” Akira blurts, and he reaches blindly to the side and takes Akechi’s hand. “I need—I need.”

            Akechi’s hand goes very still in his. “My advice?” he tries, softly, lightly. “I should think you do.”

            Three more tears drop before Akira manages to wipe them away and push the knot in his throat back down. “You’re surprisingly good at forcing me to look after myself,” he says quietly. “And—I need that.” He glances sideways to see that Akechi is staring at him, mouth slightly agape. There’s a light dusting of pink over the top of his cheekbones.

            “I’m, um, glad,” he replies awkwardly, then looks away. “Kuru—Akira, what exactly do you think you’re do—”

            Akira takes a deep breath, swivels sideways in the seat, and cups Akechi’s cheek with his hand. “Well,” he says. “In a few minutes I’m going to get up and go and try to explain things to Da—to Sojiro, see if he’ll let me stay. I should probably call Sae as well, you’re right, I think she’ll be able to help. But, um, before that.” He leans forward, and Akechi stares at him as if he can’t believe what’s happening. “Before that, I want to kiss you.”

            “What,” Akechi says blankly.

            “I won’t if you don’t want me to.” Akira sniffs and blinks back a few more tears. “I just…I’ve been wanting to since, um, probably back before we fought God.” He doesn’t think it’s necessary to confess just how _much_ before they fought God; Akechi doesn’t need to know that. Akira is fairly sure he didn’t act in any way that would have been considered compromised or unethical, anyway.

            Akechi stares at him. “Why didn’t you?” he asks, sounding almost irritated.

            Akira puts his free hand on the back of his neck. “I guess, I didn’t want to make things awkward if we survived?”

            “No—that’s. That is exactly the wrong way to—” Akechi huffs out a breath, as if he’s so irritated with Akira that he can’t even manage to get out the words properly. “You need to learn about deniability,” he says crossly. “Deniability is _useful_.”

            “I didn’t want to put you in a situation where you couldn’t say no.”

            “I am not so much a romantic that I would be incapable of saying no to a complete buffoon trying to kiss me in a flash of overdramatic desperation,” Akechi responds dryly.

            “So…are you saying n—”

            “ _No_.”

            “Oh.” Akira’s face falls a little, and he lets his hand drop from Akechi’s cheekbone. The other boy rolls his eyes and grabs it before it can fall very far.

            “I _meant_ , no I am not saying no. You buffoon.”

            Akira bites his lip. “Well, that’s different then.” His breathing speeded up when he wasn’t paying attention, but somehow he manages to lean forward, sliding his hand around the back of Akechi’s head. The kiss is clumsy: Akira’s never kissed anyone before. But it’s his first kiss, and it’s with Akechi, and after a moment, Akechi is kissing him back. Slow and warm and safe. Their lips move against each other for a moment, and then Akira pulls back and leans his forehead against Akechi’s, still breathing hard. “Damn, Akechi,” he manages.

            Akechi’s breathing hard as well, and the hand still tight in Akira’s is trembling. “Don’t you think you should call me Goro?” he suggests mildly.

            Laughter bubbles up inside Akira’s chest and forces its way out. He finds himself bending over, as shudders of laughter run up through his spine. It’s difficult to breathe.

            “Akira? It…wasn’t that funny.” Goro’s voice is growing faint, hard to hear over the sudden buzzing in his ears. “Hold on,” Goro tells him, and Akira tries, really tries, but everything is spinning away.

            The next thing he knows, there’s a cool glass of water at his lips and someone is saying his name worriedly in his ears. “S-Sorry,” Akira gasps. “I’m okay. I’m. I’ll be okay.”

            When the room clarifies a little out of the strange sensory buzz, he finds that Goro is holding a glass of water to his lips and Sojiro has a hand tight on his shoulder and is saying his name.

            Akira doesn’t mean to say what he does, but it comes out anyway, the words slurred with panic. “Dad,” he whimpers. “Dad, let me stay. Don’t make me go back.”

            Sojiro freezes, the hand on his upper shoulder tightening. “Akira,” he says slowly. “Aren’t you just—”

            “He’s not just anything,” Goro says, his words suddenly biting. “There’s a reason that he calls _you_ Dad.”

            There’s a long moment of hesitation, and Akira can feel heat rising to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Sojiro is going to tell him that it’s impossible, and the brief hope he felt is going to be snuffed out, leaving nothing in its wake but more years and years of trying to stay quiet, with no recourse because he’s _destroyed_ his only recourse, so he deserves it. Even if there was no choice—but of course there was. There’s always a choice, Akira thinks, his mind running in rapid, jagged, terrified circles. And he doesn’t even know if he made the wrong one.

            “This isn’t just because you’re going to miss being here?” Sojiro asks, voice clipped but soft.

            Akira squeezes his eyes shut and jerkily shakes his head. “I don’t—” he presses his lips together. “It’s—hard to focus on my schoolwork,” he says numbly. “Being afraid makes it difficult. If you think—if someone might—if you don’t know when they’re going to—” his shoulders hunch inwards. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I tried not to say anything.”

            “I will talk to Niijima-san,” Sojiro tells him, voice calm and level, almost emotionless. “Don’t worry, Akira. Just don’t worry. You’ll always have a home here.”

            A sob tears its way out of Akira’s throat, and he presses his palms to his eyes to try and stop the sudden flow of tears. “Thank you,” he whispers.

            “You’re going to be safe,” Goro tells him, and he sounds almost vicious. “You saved everyone else, so now it’s _your_ turn.”

            He can’t quite stop himself from sobbing again, but then Goro’s arms are around him—awkward, but there—and Sojiro is telling him again in that steady, solid voice that it’s going to be all right. It’s not all right yet, but—Akira can breathe.

            He turns his head upward and steals a kiss from Goro, and he can still breathe. He can _breathe_. He’s safe.           


End file.
